


in our kingdom by the sea

by dothraki_shieldmaiden



Series: the stars never rise but i feel the bright eyes [1]
Category: Thor (Movies), Thor - All Media Types
Genre: Anal Sex, Beaches, Domestic, M/M, Reconciliation, sort of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-19
Updated: 2014-09-19
Packaged: 2018-02-17 23:33:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,315
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2327204
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dothraki_shieldmaiden/pseuds/dothraki_shieldmaiden
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On a non-descript beach, in a non-descript town, sits a ramshackle cabin. </p><p>Its only visitors come with the storm.</p>
            </blockquote>





	in our kingdom by the sea

**Author's Note:**

> Just a short little piece of somewhat fluff--basically because I love the beach and I wanted to write something with these two that wasn't quite so depressing.

On a non-descript beach, in a non-descript town, there sits a ramshackle cabin. Its wooden exterior is dark, stained from countless years of storms and sand and the stilts on which it sits appear just a few gusts of winds away from collapsing. The windows remain open but they never reveal any of the house’s secrets. The grass in the yard is tall enough to swallow inattentive pedestrians.

Tourists wonder why the decrepit cottage still occupies prime beachfront territory when its garage always remains empty. Locals wonder as well but the question slips from their consciousness as soon as it’s raised, their minds guided away to other concerns. The cottage remains standing and empty—

Except.

Night falls swiftly over the town and the residents flee to the brightly lit safety of their houses, leaving the beach deserted except for a single figure. Lightning flashes over the crashing waves, illuminating the man who stands ankle deep in the surf. His electric blue eyes flash in time with the rolling thunder as the wind whips his dark blond hair around his face. He looks like he could be any other vacationer, barefoot and dressed in a simple t-shirt and board shorts but no other traveler would dare venture out into the fury of the storm. The man’s face splits into a smile as three simultaneous forks of lightning transform the night into a riotous explosion of light.

Something changes, a small shift of the air, a subtle breeze where there should be nothing and the man’s smile softens. “I see that you got my message.” The blond’s voice is rough, gravel crunched underneath boots. He turns to face the person behind him.

Lightning slices through the sky, its stark light throwing the newcomer’s face into sharp relief. The man’s green eyes match the swirling waters in front of them, sharp and intense. His dark hair easily blends with the night while in contrast, his pale skin gleams in the faint light provided by the barely visible moon. Unlike the blond, the lean man looks as though he could have come straight from Wall Street, with the suit that’s perfectly tailored to fit his lean body and long lines. Against all laws of nature, sand seems to veer away from his clothing, even his finely polished shoes. The wind catches his silken scarf and whips it around his face until he tucks it underneath the collar of his jacket.

The darker man laughs, throwing his head back to greet the few droplets of rain which sprinkle down on them. “The mortals' news is full of stories of freak storms settling on this poor unsuspecting town. You weren’t all that discrete brother dear.”

With a few steps the blond is out of the surf, his feet sinking into the wet sand as he comes to stand before the slighter man. “Still, you were here faster than I would have expected, Loki.”

Loki smiles and for the first time, some measure of warmth sinks into his face. “I happened to be in the neighborhood Thor, try not to slobber too much.”  
Despite the bite in the words, Thor laughs, a great roar that seems to echo around them. Uncaring of the suit’s rich fabric, he throws his arm around Loki. Not even the sharp elbow delivered to his ribs can dim his grin as they turn back to the cabin.

“Have you been inside?” Thor asks, as they walk along the wooden plankway to the back porch.

“No, for some reason I thought that I would see you first.” Loki’s handsome face twists with irritation as he tries to shrug off the heavy arm around his slim shoulders. If his efforts seem half-hearted and if Thor pulls him tighter as a result, well then—

There are no witnesses and Thor provides shelter from the storm.

*~*

Despite their connections with the cold, unforgiving north, both Thor and Loki have always found the beaches close to the equator soothing. The sound of waves rhythmically crashing into the shore creates a comforting mix of white noise which allows the mind to relax but there are other considerations as well.  
Thor likes the power held within the water’s unfathomable depths, relishes in its pull on his body. He loves watching the reflection of lightning off of the surface of the water, how the electricity sometimes sparks from the water, how the roll of thunder echoes across the water’s surface. He likes the ocean’s restlessness, the currents which shift and change, the unceasing, eternal nature of the tides.

Loki loves the caprice of the waves, how they’re playful in one moment and in the next slam into the unsuspecting with devastating force. He enjoys the subtle tug of the tide on his body, the unspoken threat in the current. He likes sitting on the sands and watching the waves roll in, their unrelenting presence an eraser that eventually wipes away any imperfections.

But their love goes beyond the surface and taps into something deeper, some ephemeral quality that’s only reached when they sit on the house’s deck at sunset and stare out at the waves. Maybe Loki’s hand will rest on Thor’s knee, perhaps they will sit separate, each chasing their own thoughts but at least together. The hurts between them go bone-deep and the edges are too jagged and splintered to ever fully put back together but the magic of this place exists in the fact that, while they’re here, healing at least seems like a possibility.

Dinner is subdued and filled with the sound of chewing rather than conversation. Loki eats with single-minded purpose while Thor finds the sight of his brother more filling than any meal. Still, his brother appears in good health, which settles Thor’s mind somewhat. He’ll never forget the time that he waited here for weeks, sending storms out to sea in increasing desperation until Loki finally stumbled over the threshold, his body battered and bruised and his eyes lidded in exhaustion and pain. Loki’s never told him where he was or why he waited so long to come and Thor’s afraid to ask, terrified that any questions will explode their fragile truce.

For it is a truce, Thor reminds himself as he stands from the table and holds his hand out to Loki in a silent request. This time is little more than an agreement spun out of nothing more than sideways glances and halfway smiles, the loosening of shoulders and soft exhalations, the acknowledgement that even immortals grow weary and that even chaos and storms require some stability.  
Lightning still flashes far out to sea and Loki hums softly at the sight as he leans closer to Thor. Long fingers curve around the curve of a wine glass and the liquid stains the edges of his lips a deep red that Thor longs to taste. He curbs the impulse by burying his nose into Loki’s hair, the curls teased loose by the rainfall. Loki still smells the same after all these years, sandalwood and honey mixed with something darker, a pungent spice that never fails to soothe and arouse.

“There’s no need to continue showing off,” Loki murmurs into his glass, his eyes glinting wickedly at Thor over the rim. “I’m already here.”

“Perhaps that’s the reason that I’m showing off.” Thor grins, easy as a boy. Here it’s so easy for him to sink back into the wonderment that his youth possessed, the thrill of controlling his first tempest. His skin had felt alight and he could have sworn that electricity crackled through his veins instead of blood. There had been nothing but joy in those storms, the sheer exuberance held within the clouds lifting him off the ground.

Loki smiles and Thor looks past the slight bitter twist to his lips, the faint reminder that this is after all just a pause in the centuries. Instead he focuses on the faint, almost vanished laugh lines which flicker back into sight as Loki steps closer. The wine glass vanishes with a gesture and Loki’s hands, now free, wind their way up Thor’s shoulders to tangle in his hair.

“I’m certain that I could think of better ways for you to occupy yourself,” he says, his voice heavy with insinuation.

“Such as?” Thor teases, keeping his hands firm on Loki’s hips to stop his brother from pressing against him. The air is thick as the single flickering candle catches the light in Loki’s eyes and reflects it back to him. Need settles in Thor’s body but he can ignore it for the moment, if for no other reason than to see Loki’s eyes alight with mischief instead of mayhem, to flare with playfulness instead of malice.

Loki’s tongue flirts with his lower lip, a tantalizing promise that sets Thor’s blood ablaze. “I have heard an awful lot about your hammer,” he says, his tone gravely serious even though he’s barely able to keep a straight face. Thor recognizes the mockery in Loki’s tone, his words a perfect mimicry of some of the inane questions that Midgardian heralds ask him but a swift glance reassures him that there is no poisonous malice in Loki’s eyes, only earnest mischief.“About its power, the grip and handling, the smoothness of the motions—“ With every word Loki pushes against Thor’s hold, as relentless as the tide, until Thor’s grip loosens and Loki presses himself flush against Thor’s body. “I would ever so like to see if those same attributes could be used on anything else. If your handling of the shaft is really masterful.”

“You would?” Thor rumbles as his palm slides down Loki’s chest to rest just above his groin. Heat rises from the normally cool body and Thor bites back a moan. “And what would you do for the privilege?”

Loki laughs, low and dangerous, as his nails prick the back of Thor’s neck. His body is sinuous and hard as he rises up to nuzzle Thor’s bristled cheek with his smooth one. “I would give you a tongue worth its weight in silver,” he promises, punctuating his words with a swift suckle of Thor’s earlobe.  
Thor’s resolve crumbles like a dam breaking and the ensuing torrent sweeps them back to the bedroom.

*~*

What none of his mortal friends realize and what his Asgardian friends seem to have forgotten is that Loki was not always bitter, was not always cold and calculating. Thor remembers his brother as a child who delighted in tricks but who would crawl into their mother’s lap and twirl her golden tresses around his fingers in bemused amazement. He remembers how Loki’s laugh echoed through their chambers when he summoned his first mage-light and how Thor watched, impressed with his little brother’s skill. He hopes that this at least is true, that wishing and guilt haven’t turned his memories into self-serving vignettes, that at least here he was proud.

All too soon the whispers crowded around them, nasty cloying little things that were designed to wriggle into the paper-thin cracks in an overly proud second son’s armor. Seidr wasn’t proper for a prince, they said, was a womanly craft that had no business being in the royal line. If only he was more like his brother—Thor, too caught up in his own bravado and swept in the tide of being important, had thoughtlessly agreed, had tried to urge Loki away from sorcery and towards his own interests.

There were other crimes that could be laid at his feet and Norns know that Loki has recited all of his faults in agonizing detail, each of his failings hurled at him like weapons. The accusations keep Thor awake at night as he tries to untangle the threads of the past and weave them into a brighter future. Each time he comes up short but he still has to try because the day that he stops is the day that his brother is lost to him forever.

Sometimes it seems almost impossible to keep hope alive, to believe that the clear-eyed, laughing boy still exists within the maddened sorcerer that faces him on the battlefield. When he sees the wreckage and carnage that Loki leaves in his wake his brother all but fades away, lost behind Thor’s own rage and pain. His friends urge him to turn his back on their past and see only the present, to accept that the Loki he knew is gone and while their opinions are valid and quite possibly correct Thor cannot quite bring himself to do it. Not when he still has this oasis available, this kingdom apart from all else.

He doesn’t know whether it’s a subtle magic hidden from the rest of the world or simply supreme force of will that makes the years float away and either way, Thor doesn’t want to investigate too closely. Loki’s told him more than once that when magic works you don’t question why, you just accept it. Questions tear apart the illusion and shatter the spell and Thor never wants these moments to end, the peace which settles into his soul, his brother alive and whole and perfect in his arms.

The bedroom door opens and the two of them stumble inside, their hands occupied with the fastenings of their clothes. The backs of Loki’s thighs hit the mattress and it takes the barest nudge of Thor’s hand to send him toppling backwards into the plush embrace of the blankets. With his long, graceful limbs splayed out across the bed, Loki looks like a feast. Magelights float into being above the bed, conjured by a simple wave of Loki’s hand, and their soft light casts an ethereal glow over their bodies.

Loki’s expensive shirt is a hapless victim of Thor’s fumbling as it hangs half off his body. Without care for the expensive fabric Thor tears at it, desperate to see more of Loki’s flesh. He can hear the sound of seams ripping but it’s not as if Loki actually pays for any of his clothes and from the frantic way that Loki tugs at his shirt, Thor thinks that outfits are the last thing on his brother’s mind.

“Thor,” Loki gasps, running his hands down Thor’s back to pull at the hem of his t-shirt, “Thor, off now, please...” His nails leave bright furrows in the meat of Thor’s back as he yanks and Thor hisses at the sensation, pulling away from Loki just long enough to rip the shirt off his body. It flutters, forgotten and unmissed to the floor as Thor leans down to claim Loki’s lips in a bruising kiss.

Loki’s mouth opens to him, eager little moans already spilling forth as his hands roam over the wide expanses of skin now open for his exploration. Thor groans as clever fingertips trace the contours of his shoulderblades, circle his biceps and then dip playfully into the dimples at the small of his back. Each touch feels like a benediction. For all Thor knows it might be and he selfishly sucks Loki’s devotion in as greedily as water-starved desert sand.

He repays his brother with his own touch, his hands sliding up and down smooth sides as his fingers bump over every rib. His lips slide sloppily over Loki’s face, brushing against cheekbones and ears and down to the sharp cut of his jaw before finally finding his mouth once more.  
Loki kisses hard, always has, kisses like the rest of the world is collapsing, like at any second Thor could be torn from his grasp. Each caress is as intoxicating as the sweetest liquor and Thor thinks that he might drown in the face of it all.

“Norns, Thor,” Loki breathes as Thor bites a path down his neck to his chest. He litters the pale skin with bruises, sucking deep marks just underneath Loki’s collarbones. A futile hope flickers in his chest, whispers that if he could only lay his mark deeper than skin, more permanent than scars, then these halcyon days would never end.

Thor wants to savor each drag of his lips over Loki’s skin, to taste his brother’s sweat as delicately as he would sip the sweetest wine but Loki’s hands grasp at him with an urgency bordering on frenzy and Thor can’t deny him this. His hands travel down to the slender nip of Loki’s waist and he wastes no time. The supple leather of Loki’s belt slips against his fingers and Thor curses his own clumsiness. Loki is no help at all as he shifts underneath him, rolling his hips up just so Thor can feel the hard press of his cock against his thigh.

Thor finally manages to undo all the fastenings on Loki’s expensive pants while Loki’s clear laugh trills through his brain as his little brother still makes no move to help him. “I could rip them.” Thor punctuates his warning with a sharp tug to the fabric and Loki relents, though not without a muttered complaint about Thor’s boorishness as he lifts his hips. Normally Thor would rise to the bait if for no other reason than to see the delicious glare that Loki shoots towards him but of his thinking grinds to a halt when he’s confronted with the sight of Loki wonderfully, gorgeously naked in front of him.

Thor’s eyes feast on the sight in front of him, slowly savoring each inch of skin and Loki preens underneath the attention. A slow stretch that no spine should be capable of shows his lean muscles in their best light and Thor’s breath catches as Loki’s legs fall open to fully expose the long, elegant curve of his cock curving up towards his stomach. The faint flickers of the magelights paint Loki’s body in shades of alabaster and rose and Thor wants nothing more than to taste every inch of skin.

“Where is all that prowess now?” Loki taunts, without cruelty as Thor’s staring stretches on a moment too long. “Your boasts are bold enough in the beginning…” Thor leans over Loki and the trickster actually falters for a moment, his lips falling open in anticipation before he rallies a second later, “but they mean nothing if you can’t— _ah_ —“

Loki might prod and taunt but Thor has better uses for his tongue than to use it to engage Loki in a battle that he cannot hope to win. Loki makes his home amongst the twisting subtleties of words and magic, the intangible and improbable. Thor’s realm is the physical and visceral, the feel of the velvet-smooth skin of Loki’s cock held within his calloused palms, the taste of salt and musk against his tongue, the push of Loki’s chest into his mouth as the slighter man surges upwards. Thor hides his grin against Loki’s skin, nipping at the pebbled bud of a nipple until Loki gasps.

“A nice— _hah_ —trick brother, but you’d best have more—oh, _oh_ —“

Satisfaction settles warm in Thor’s stomach, as heavy as Loki’s cock against his lips. His tongue darts out again to flick against the slit and he revels in the symphony of Loki’s sighs and grunts. Pleasure makes Loki artless and Thor loves nothing more than the sight of ink-black hair spread wild against rumpled sheets, the soft flush that spreads over pale skin or, like now, the minute shifts and thrusts of Loki’s hips as Thor sucks on just the head.

Already his patience wears thin as Loki’s fingers curl through his hair. He wants nothing more than to lay between Loki’s legs for hours and reduce his clever little brother to a witless, slobbering mess but urgency pumps through his veins, the clamoring need for more pounding against his skull until it’s all Thor can think of. Thor’s fingers press bruises into Loki’s hips like blessings as he tilts his head at just the right angle and, without preamble, slides his lips down the length of him until his nose brushes dark curls.

Above him Loki hisses half-formed curses towards the ceiling as his grip tightens in Thor’s hair. His heel digs into the muscle of Thor’s back, a spur urging him onwards but Thor ignores it as he leisurely slides his lips along Loki’s length. Loki’s flesh twitches against his tongue and Thor moans in appreciation, the sound mingling with Loki’s shuddering groan.

Not enough, still not enough, even though it’s wonderful, Loki’s taste lingering on his lips, the sound of his breath catching and stuttering, sheets twisted around long fingers. Thor’s hands cup Loki’s slender hips, keeping him pinned on the mattress as he presses one last, lingering kiss to Loki’s cock. Loki whines in frustration as his hands fist in his hair, limp body falling back to the mattress as tremors shake through his spread thighs. Thor’s already crumbling resolve shatters underneath the assault that is seeing Loki undone, watching his brother’s impeccable self-control break into something incredibly fragile and beautiful.

Unable to wait any longer, Thor presses a sloppy kiss to the curve of Loki’s jaw before he reaches for the lube which they keep in the bedside drawer. Underneath him Loki stretches and grins, teeth gleaming white and dangerous in the dim light. “By all means, take your time brother,” he purrs, voice sinfully low and smooth, except for the almost imperceptible hitch when Thor straightens, the lube held captive in his hands. Thor cannot throw the cap away fast enough and he slops the liquid on his fingers and all over the sheets, eyes riveted to the tantalizing sight of Loki taking himself in hand and stroking painfully slowly.

“Enough,” Thor commands once he regains his voice and he bats Loki’s hand away. Loki hisses at him but his lips curl upwards in satisfaction as Thor hastily bullies his way to between Loki’ s legs. The lean thighs part easily for him, despite his bulk and Thor groans in appreciation as he runs his fingers over the delicate crease between thigh and groin before he dares to dip into the cleft of his brother’s ass.

Loki chokes out a gasp as Thor’s slicked fingers run over the furled skin of his hole. The blond circles the delicate crinkle of flesh several times before Loki grows impatient and tries to force Thor’s fingers inside him. It’s been a while, too long, since they’ve done this but Loki’s body yields as beautifully as ever to Thor’s touch, clutching his finger in clenching heat as he slides in to the third knuckle.

Barely a breath passes before Loki pushes down, his chest rising and falling as he sucks in enough air to demand, “More, more, now, damn you—“ A choked off grunt finishes the sentence as Thor obliges him, a second finger entering alongside the first. Loki’s head lolls back even as his hand stretches forward, fingers clawing at Thor’s forearms.

Later, later he will take his time over Loki’s body, slave over him as artists do over their masterpieces but for now his world is reduced to the slick feel of Loki’s body clutching him in tighter, the harsh hiss of Loki’s exhalations, the sweat creeping down his cheek and chest. Arousal hangs thick and humid over their bodies, so much a presence that Thor can taste it in the air, cloying and sweet on his tongue.

His mouth works without his permission or knowledge as it spills out praise and curses alike. Loki’s smile valiantly remains, though it’s grown slack and lazy around the edges, the knife-sharp edge lost in his growing need. The trickster cries out as Thor’s fingers crook, seeking that wildfire spot, and Thor bites his lip as he watches a pearly drop of seed well up in the slit of Loki’s cock.

“Do it,” Loki hisses. His back arches in an impossible curve as he bares his throat, tendons standing out as Loki groans in need. “Do it Thor, now, now— _aah_ —“ Thor’s fingers rub insistently, turning Loki’s pleas into inarticulate moans that are no less eloquent. Every line of his straining body beckons Thor forward and the thunder god happily follows, his lips crashing down onto Loki’s in a contact that is too violent to be termed a kiss.

Loki pants into his mouth, teeth nipping at the plush flesh of Thor’s lips. Bright pinpricks of pain dance along his scalp as Loki tangles his fingers into Thor’s hair, yanking mercilessly whenever Thor looks to be moving away. A warning growl rumbles in Thor’s chest and at the next tug on his hair, his teeth close on the vulnerable flesh of Loki’s milk-white throat. The heavy tang of Loki’s sweat stains his lips, coats his tongue, and Thor could get drunk off of this, could fall into oblivion with just a single taste. He bites down harder, teeth sinking into willing flesh and Loki wails, thin and so very desperate, fingernails clawing at Thor’s back as he thrashes underneath him. Thor’s cock is so hard that it’s almost painful and Loki’s own ignored erection is a brand against his belly but he wants more, wants it all, the explosion of tension held within a thunderclap, the bright release of lightning against the darkened sky—

“Thor, Thor please, now, now, _Thor_ ,” Loki wails as his body jerks underneath Thor’s unrelenting stimulation of his prostate. It would be so easy to push him over the edge, so easy and yet so unsatisfying. With a brief flicker of regret Thor pulls himself away from Loki just long enough to slop more lube over his already slick fingers. He hisses as he coats himself, the sensation too much and not nearly enough.

Loki’s smile is like an anchor around his ankle, dragging him down, down, down into depths that Thor can only begin to imagine. Lean legs lock around Thor’s hips, the most useless prison bars ever imagined, for the most willing prisoner. Long, it’s been forever it seems, but there are some dances that are ingrained in Thor’s muscles, imprinted so deep in his psyche that he’ll never be able to rip them out. This, Loki’s knees pressing into his ribs, Loki’s fingers in his hair, the exquisite tease as his cock bumps against his brother’s entrance—he could live a thousand lives, see a thousand realms and his body would still know this.

“ _Yes_ ,” Loki hisses as Thor grips the base of his cock with one hand, the other pushing Loki’s thigh up towards his chest. From this angle Loki’s whole body is exposed and Thor feels dizzy as he starts the slow push in. The tight ring of muscle resists for only a second before it yields to the stretch and Loki’s back arches in delight as Thor’s cock enters him in an agonizing, delicious drag.

Heat is all that Thor’s brain understands at the moment, heat and tight, so very tight and slick and—“Norns,” Thor chokes out. He swears that constellations are dancing before him, drawn out to play by the magic of Loki’s body underneath his, his brother’s sweet little gasps as Thor’s hips rock forward. Each small movement seats him more firmly within his brother’s body until finally, with one last push, his hips slot neatly against Loki’s ass.

Thor’s heart pounds mercilessly against its fragile confines of bone and skin and he forces himself to stop for just a moment, just long enough to gather his wits, what little might be left of them. Need courses through his veins, as potent as the headiest mead and for a moment he hangs on the precipice of pleasure where just the smallest movement could tip him over. Underneath him and completely unconcerned with his problems, Loki whines and starts to shift his hips, an obvious ploy intended to force Thor into movement.

“Wait,” Thor growls in a voice barely recognizable as his own. He pushes down to pin Loki’s body with his bulk and tries not to pay attention to how Loki’s face splits into a thrilled grin. The trickster looks like Jul has come early and Thor knows that he’ll not hear the end of this for decades to come but the wire-thin edge recedes and Thor can finally move once more. He withdraws slowly, moaning deep in his throat at the delicious friction which grips his cock. Only the very tip of his cock remains inside Loki and Thor waits for the span of one heartbeat, then another—Loki’s smirk starts to flicker at the very edges and his lips part in shallow breaths—

Thor’s hips snap ruthlessly forward and the breath jolts out of Loki’s body. The smug grin flies off of the trickster’s face as swiftly as though it never existed in the first place and is instead replaced with slack-jawed pleasure as Thor’s hips easily fall a bruising rhythm.

The slick sound of flesh slapping together fills the room as Thor thrusts hard and deep. He fucks like it’s a battle and he can almost convince himself that it’s the truth—watching Loki’s eyes roll back surely feels like victory. His brother’s hands cling to his arms, fingers scrabbling for a sure hold. The thin veneer of Loki’s control is crackling and crumbling at the edges but it’s not gone entirely and Thor wants to see Loki taken apart, wants to make him shatter so that he can pick up the pieces. On the next thrust he tilts his hips just so and is rewarded by Loki’s high keen as his brother’s body clenches around him.

“So good,” Thor groans as he thrusts again to strike the same spot, “so good for me Loki, you feel so good.” Pleasure slices through his body, terrible and wonderful and utterly consuming. It’s a maelstrom sweeping him up and Thor relishes in his helplessness against its rage. All he has to do is fall and it’s so very easy to do that, to allow his body to thrust into Loki’s, to lower his mouth to the inviting expanse of skin across Loki’s collarbone and bite down.  
Loki’s hips jerk underneath his as he gasps for breath. “Thor, Thor please,” he babbles. His eyes are wide and guileless around blown pupils and he is vulnerable here in his passion as he is nowhere else. “Thor, Norns Thor, close, so close, please please please…”

“Got you,” Thor grunts, working a hand between them to wrap around Loki’s cock. “I’ve got you, come on, come for me—“ His hand works in a sloppy rhythm that comes nowhere near matching the now frantic pace of his hips but it works, Loki’s cock twitching and pulsing in his grasp as Loki’s chest heaves with gulping breaths.  


Thor’s eyes miss nothing. Loki’s face goes slack as his eyes roll back and his lips part in a perfect circle. His body clutches at Thor, tight, so tight around his cock, fingernails digging into his shoulders and leaving ten perfect crescent marks behind as he throws his head back and wails. It’s perfect and wonderful, watching Loki come undone, the beautiful violence of climax transforming his brother into an elemental creature focused only on its own pleasure.

Thor’s hips move of their own accord in shallow thrusts even as Loki’s body shakes underneath him, caught in the aftershocks. Thor breathes kisses into Loki’s skin and whispers sentiment into his hair, the sweet drivel that he’s only allowed in these moments between climax and consciousness, when Loki floats blissfully unaware. _Beautiful_ , Thor murmurs, wishing that he could carve these words into Loki’s flesh, into the fabric of his soul that his brother could remember them later. _Perfect, wonderful, gorgeous, brother, brother_ …

Loki’s eyes almost manage to focus on him before he closes them. “Come now Thor,” he murmurs, his velvet smooth voice turned hoarse. Thor groans and rolls his hips with more force, savoring Loki’s pleased hum. His brother’s body is pliant and Thor takes full advantage of this, hooking his elbows underneath the trickster’s knees and leaning forward until he has Loki bent nearly in half underneath him.

Loki doesn’t mind, in fact his smile grows broader, all pleased soft curves. It’s too much, the bright edge of pleasure just this side of painful, Loki’s smile searing through his flesh and into the deepest part of him which never sees the light of day…Thor moans and buries his face into the inviting crook of Loki’s neck, shaking as he chases his own release. His senses shrink down to just Loki—his sweat, the scent of his hair and skin, the intoxicating murmur of his voice whispering filthy promises, and the heat, the clutch and burn, arms winding tight around his shoulders…

“Yes, just like that, love feeling you inside me,” Loki whispers before he nips at the shell of Thor’s ear. Thor groans. His hips pump relentlessly into Loki’s inviting body, all technique vanished in his desperate need to finish, to fall, to shatter...Loki’s voice is sinfully smooth velvet in his ears, fingers wrapped around his throat and pressing into his jugular. “Want you to come inside me, want to feel you there for days…”

“Fuck…Loki,” Thor moans before his teeth sink into the meat of Loki’s shoulder. Loki shudders and cries out, a thin sound that’s not entirely pain. “Loki,” Thor groans around his brother’s flesh, the name a plea and a curse, the knife-sharp edge of bliss cutting deep as he finally succumbs. His hips snap sharply once, twice, and his vision whites out, every nerve ending in his body screaming out in ecstasy that’s painful in its unblinking clarity.

Awareness comes gently to him, like graceful hands tracing the lines of muscle in his back, like elegant fingers picking through the tangles in his hair. Thor wants to push closer, wants to press his face into the slightly tacky skin underneath Loki’s collarbone and nuzzle there but instead he remains motionless. Even here, blanketed with the security of their truce and the comfort of the house, moments like these are still precious spun glass that shatters with a single breath.  
All too soon, Loki’s hands drift to a stop. Thor tries not to mourn the loss, concentrating instead on the soothing drum of Loki’s pulse against his cheek. Still here, they’re both here. “I find that the tales of your stamina were greatly exaggerated,” Loki quips, a devilish eyebrow rising in challenge.

Thor laughs and pushes himself up on one elbow to shift the majority of his weight off of Loki’s body. Soon enough the drying sweat and seed will force them to separate but for now Thor is perfectly content to feel Loki’s cooling flesh against his own. From the roll of Loki’s eyes, Thor’s sentiment is plastered across his face, but not even his liesmith of a brother can fully suppress the tiny smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

For all of Loki’s jibes at Thor’s stamina, the blond does most of the work of getting them out of bed and into the shower. The trickster goes mostly limp, to the point that Thor has to figure out how to support his weight while he fiddles with the knobs until the water’s at a suitable temperature for the both of them—he prefers his shower water lukewarm while Loki likes his so hot that it threatens to scald the skin off his body.

Thor positions leans Loki against him, the sharp bones of his brother’s shoulderblades digging into the muscles of his chest. This way he can adjust for his brother’s weight, slight as it is. Thor frowns as his large hands sweep up and down Loki’s sides: his fingers drift over each rib like cars over speed bumps: his brother has been neglecting himself once more. It doesn’t surprise Thor—Loki’s relationship with food is neglectful at best—but he still makes a note to shove the trickster’s favorite foods at him every opportunity he gets. Plenty of pastries and fruits, Thor thinks, as he idly runs soapy hands over Loki’s torso.

Loki hums deep in his throat as Thor’s fingers work through his hair and rub at his scalp. The water beats down on their bodies, warm and soothing, as Thor’s hands travel the expanse of Loki’s body, smoothing over his back and over his ass. Just to tease he dips soap-slick fingers in the crack to drift over Loki’s entrance, his finger teasing over the puffy skin. Loki whines in protest and only stops trying to squirm away when Thor smacks an apologetic kiss onto his temple.

“Give me at least a few hours you brute,” Loki reprimands, the bite vanished from his words as Thor’s hands sweep over his taut stomach once more. After a final caress Thor deems Loki done and gently urges him to turn around so that the water beats down against the back of his head and his shoulders. Once he’s sure that Loki won’t topple over, Thor sinks to his knees, smiling as Loki automatically reaches out for Thor’s shoulders to keep his balance. Thor takes a moment to flick his eyes up to Loki’s face before he starts to work on the sinewy muscles of Loki’s thighs. His touch drifts inward to tickle the soft skin of the inner thighs and Loki’s eyes drift closed as his lips part in a thoughtless smile. The trickster obediently lifts his leg at Thor’s silent prodding and practically purrs as Thor’s fingers move across the deceptively delicate arches of his feet.

Loki’s nails scratch at Thor’s scalp in idle caresses as Thor leans forward and presses a kiss to just underneath his navel. His brother’s cock nestles into the juncture of his thighs, a soft jumble of flesh and Thor pauses to press a kiss to its base, smiling at Loki’s barely audible gasp. Thor moves away before either of them becomes more interested, nosing his way across the flat plane of Loki’s stomach to press a kiss to his sharp hipbone before he rises.

Washing the grime off his own body proves difficult when he has to worry about Loki’s boneless body but Thor somehow manages a cursory bathing, scrubbing the worst of the sweat and come off his abdomen. Loki rouses enough to hinder him, his hands exploring the broad planes of muscle in Thor’s chest, lazily thumbing across a nipple until it hardens underneath his touch. “Wretch,” Thor accuses with a smile and Loki smirks in response.

Afterwards they tumble into bed, the sheets cleaned with a swiftly muttered word from Loki, and Thor greedily gathers his brother’s body close to him. He buries his nose in the damp hair at the base of Loki’s skull and breathes deep. His palm rests directly over Loki’s heart, the steady pulse a constant reassurance that Loki is here, that they’re both here, that for the moment at least, everything is perfect.

*~*

Thor has lived through centuries, long enough to know that peace is not a state of mind. Peace is the most elusive of prey, known only to the most tenacious of hunters. Those who are lucky enough to hold it know that the chase and capture are not enough. Peace is a merciless lover who demands that her champions fight for her with blood and tears. Thor knows how to hold peace in ragged bleeding fingers, knows that the alternative is worse, even as the struggle cuts him to the quick.

The first time Thor had come to this house, he had done so with the storm raging just underneath his skin, his brain swept up in the bloodlust of the berserkr. He’d followed Loki’s sloppy trail of magic, too obvious to be anything else other than a trap, and had found his brother standing in the surf, devoid of his customary armor and helm.

The sight had given him momentary pause, the vulnerable curve of Loki’s unprotected shoulders reaching past the madness and tugging at his natural urge to protect but the feeling was little more than a fleeting concern, a blink gone before it could be fully registered. Replacing it was the clarity of anger, the surety that only came when Thor was sunk deep into battle-rage, with Loki’s cruel taunts and the screams of mortals echoing through his skull. Mjolnir was light in his hand, her song singing clear through the fury of the storm, and a single bolt of lightning cracked the sky.

Loki had laughed, a terrible, low sound that crawled down Thor’s spine, making the hair on his arms stand up in protest. Loki’s face split into a smile like a wound, eyes gleaming faintly in the light of a full moon. When he spoke, his voice was rough and wobbly. “Found me at last brother?”

The endearment only rubbed more salt into wounds that refused to heal and Thor growled as he hefted Mjolnir. His boots slipped on the uncertain terrain of the sand as he strode towards Loki but it was laughably easy to twist his fingers in the fine fabric of Loki’s tunic and pull him away from the ocean. As Thor moved backwards Loki’s feet scrambled for proper balance in the sand but Thor couldn’t bring himself to care. All he knew was the feel of vulnerable flesh underneath his hand and the rabbit-quick beat of Loki’s pulse. Emerald eyes flicked to Mjolnir and then back to Thor’s face, considering, as the tip of Loki’s tongue flicked over the bow in his thin lips.

Unease prickled at the back of Thor’s mind, dampening the bright joy of victory. Loki should be struggling, spitting venom and pain at him. This wasn’t right, his little brother’s chaos turned docile, all the fire and chill bled out of him to leave little more than a husk behind.

Loki’s eyes fluttered shut. “For mercy’s sake Thor,” he sighed, the exhalation soft and long, “just swing.”

Thor had shoved Loki away from him, sent his little brother sprawling in the sand as he looked at him in horror. He had come here with violence singing in his blood but now—Loki’s eyes were large in the moonlight as they stared at him and Thor thought he would be sick.

“Loki,” he finally choked out, his tongue thickening on the simple syllables. He stammered a few more times before he could ask “ _Why_?”

Loki’s laugh scraped in his mind like the doors to Hel’s hall opening. “You would deny that you came here with that intent,” he said, his voice regaining some of its old rhythm as he looked up at Thor. Despite knowing it for the truth, Thor helplessly shook his head, his stomach twisting as Loki’s shoulders shook in vicious cruelty that masqueraded as mirth.

“Liar,” his brother said simply, the word piercing through Thor’s armor. “You crave the sight of my blood across your hammer, you long for it. You wish for violence and I beg of you Thor—keep me not in this infernal loop. I grow weary of it.”

Thor’s stomach lurched, the feeling of missing a step which had always been there. Loki’s shoulders curved protectively inward, as though their brittle shield could defend the trickster. Sparks of seidr flared at Loki’s fingertips but his brother did not attack though his eyes remained fixed on Thor. His aristocratic face slowly lost its harsh lines as his eyebrows rose in confusion.

“No,” Thor whispered, dropping Mjolnir on her head in the sand. His arms reached out for Loki, who scrambled backwards to evade his touch. “No,” Thor said again, his voice gaining more surety as he dropped to his knees in the sand. His hands, as inescapable as anchors, wrapped around Loki’s biceps. His brother thrashed in his hold, a shark caught in a net, all composure vanished in his desperate attempt to free himself. Trickles of magic flowed out of Loki and prickled at his palms but still Thor held tight, whispering his brother’s name until the syllables blended together into a long prayer.

That night had been the first night that he loved Loki, by turns tender and vicious, bruising and gentle, until neither one of them could stand. He’d pressed need and anger into his brother’s skin, whispered his devotion and his frustration into the soft, secret parts of Loki’s body. He’d held onto Loki as his brother turned his head away, licked thin lips that Loki had bitten raw, brushed kisses over every inch of skin he could reach, pressed his fingers into fresh bruises until finally the chains had snapped and Loki had gasped out _I hate you I hate you_ even as his fingers clutched at Thor to bring him closer. Thor hadn’t answered him, had instead pressed deep into Loki until he thought he could feel the trickster’s heartbeat in his own body, had waited until Loki was panting and gasping underneath him, until _Thor Thor, please Thor, please_ had escaped lying lips.

Thor had taken Loki apart, with each kiss and touch, had dismantled him until nothing remained and then, when the sweat had barely begun to cool on their bodies, Loki had returned the favor. Thor had thought that he could have found no greater pleasure than the feeling of Loki’s body clutching at him as he sunk deep into deliriously tight heat but he had been wrong—there was no greater reward than to see Loki’s bright eyes blown wide and his clever tongue fallen silent in his slack-jawed amazement as Thor’s body yielded to him. Perhaps Loki had meant to shame him but there was no shame here, only the relentless beat of Thor’s pulse in unsteady veins, only the points of heat where his skin touched Loki, only the brush of Loki’s lips as his brother collapsed forward to bury his face into the crook of Thor’s neck.

“Brother,” Loki had whispered helplessly as his teeth nipped at Thor’s tender neck, “brother, brother, oh _Thor_ —“ Thor’s heart had soared, the fetters binding it finally snapped as he held Loki close.

Afterwards, they had held each other close with shaking hands, mute as the enormity of their actions finally settled upon them. Thor couldn’t bring himself to regret any of it, not with Loki’s body relaxed and pliant against his own, not with the scent and taste of Loki still rocketing through his nerves. He’d felt it then—the shifting, mercurial presence of magic, a deeper sorcery than even Loki possessed, tugging at the both of them, weaving a thread between them so fine that the wrong word would shatter it. The night passed into morning, into the next night where they tangled their bodies in damp sheets once more, and the thread held, is still holding, even with blood spatters smeared across its surface.

Regret is for those who know where their path leads. Thor doesn’t have that luxury so he can’t afford the indulgence of something as selfish as guilt. All he can do is hold Loki tightly and hope that their thread stretches further than a mere handful of days, that it can last for centuries, for eternity.

*~*

Thor wakes to the loneliness of an empty bed. His arm automatically gropes for Loki’s body but he finds nothing more than an empty indentation in the mattress next to him, the sheets still warm but cooling swiftly. Thor’s stomach twists unpleasantly as he fingers a solitary black hair which still rests on the pillow.

The creak of a footstep just outside the room shatters Thor’s morose mood. Despite himself he grins into the pillow, turning to watch the bedroom door open. Loki enters, bearing two mugs of coffee. He’s managed to unearth one of Thor’s spare shirts, emblazoned with the Stark Industries logo—imagining Stark’s look of horror at seeing Loki dressed in his merchandise brings a stab of mirth to Thor’s lips—and black boxers only serve to showcase lean legs. It’s so unlike the elegant robes that Loki favored in Asgard that Thor would find the attire unnatural, were it not for the unconscious ease with which Loki moves.

Despite his renewed good humor, some stress must still be evident on Thor’s face. Loki’s eyes narrow in scrutiny as his eyebrows tick upwards in a question which remains silent thanks to the book clenched between his teeth. Thor smiles at him, forces the last bits of nagging unease to the back of his mind, and accepts the mug which Loki hands to him. Loki sits cross-legged at the foot of the bed and quietly sips his coffee while Thor tries not to squirm as his brother’s cool green eyes sweep over his form.

Loki idly scratches underneath his jaw and the collar of his shirt shifts to reveal a dark purple mark emblazoned onto his pale skin. Possessive delight rumbles hot in his chest and Thor tries not to gloat overmuch.

“Any plans for the day?” Loki asks finally.

Thor shrugs. So much of his time is already sliced up and divided into miniscule chunks, the cares of two realms devouring his life until the concept of free time becomes a novelty. While he’s here, Thor revels in the idea of being wholly, unashamedly, lazy.

“Planned on not getting out of bed.” He grins at Loki, who rolls his eyes and takes a sip of his coffee in order to hide a smile.

“Wonderful,” Loki mutters after he swallows. “Your body will become as atrophied as your mind. I shudder to think of the final result.”

“Nonsense,” Thor rumbles, setting his mug aside as he sits up. The blanket falls away from his body as he stretches towards Loki. He doesn’t miss how Loki’s eyes travel over his body and Thor stretches in a way that appears innocent but is anything but.

“Strumpet,” Loki hisses, his eyes narrowing in a way that sends Thor’s heart racing. The mug in Loki’s hand disappears and then those hands are reaching out for him, rolling Thor over until he’s belly up and vulnerable. Adrenaline spikes through Thor’s body at the thought like it always will, no matter how many times he finds himself in this situation. With Mjolnir still on the beach, Thor is almost completely at his brother’s mercy—Loki could slice him open, could do any number of unthinkable things to him—

But instead those fingers trace nonsense designs across his quivering stomach, trail down to the vee of his pelvis before skirting upwards to dance around his nipples. He’s seen the damage that these hands can inflict, feels the knife edge of danger as Loki’s touch trails down his sides over to just above his beating heart. He should be terrified but instead Thor moans softly, arching his chest up into Loki’s touch. Black-tipped nails bite into his skin and Thor whines, dizzy with the intoxicating rush of having Loki’s formidable focus directed solely at him.

“You’d have me no other way,” Thor declares breathlessly. Loki’s eyes flick to his face, suddenly hard in response to Thor’s easy, arrogant tone, but this must be magic, Thor must be blessed, because the glint lasts for only a second before Loki simply sighs and flicks his nail across the pebbled bud of a nipple.

“I’ll have you in plenty of ways before this day is through brother,” Loki promises, his smirk flashing wolfishly across his face as he settles in over his prey.

Thor shivers in delight.

*~*  
Loki is always the first to leave.

He never says goodbye. The one time Loki extended the courtesy of a farewell Thor bungled the opportunity: threats and promises mingled together as Thor spewed them out with increasing desperation until Loki simply vanished. Since then Loki never bothers to tell Thor when their time is up. Thor will simply wake in the morning and know: the silence of the house gone stale and melancholy, the air still without the spark of chaos to give it life.

Each departure presses pain deep into Thor’s joints until each breath scrapes him raw. Every time he comes here he has the futile, insane hope that perhaps this time all the pieces will click together: maybe Loki will decide to abandon his madness, maybe Thor can finally reach past the fog of lies, hate, and terror that surround Loki and finally bring him out into the light once more. Each time his dream shatters before him, forcing Thor to concede that nothing will save Loki until he wishes to be saved.

Some visits end when Loki departs almost between one breath and the next, slips away from Thor before he can even think about holding on tighter. This visit will not be one of those times. It’s laughably easy for Thor to deduce—the faraway look in Loki’s eyes as he eats his breakfast, how his gaze remains fixed on a certain spot in his book, his eyes staring at sights miles beyond the printed words. He speaks, he laughs, he even allows Thor to run his fingers through the black silk of his hair but in every way that matters, Loki is all but gone. The only time Thor recaptures the whole of Loki’s attention is when he demands it with his fingers and lips.

The ticking clock presses down on Thor’s chest until he can barely breathe underneath the weight. Each second is like a grain of sand in the hourglass and Thor only wants to stop time, to keep them suspended in this perfect world. If he could then he would remove this place from Midgard and make a tenth realm, with only himself and Loki as inhabitants.

“Loki,” he tries, reaching out to rub his finger over Loki’s wrist. The hollows aren’t as pronounced as they were when they arrived and Thor latches onto the small comfort this provides him.

Loki turns to him, a curious eyebrow rising over eyes that look beyond Thor into worlds that he can only dream of. He doesn’t know where his brother goes when he’s not here or on the battlefield and Thor isn’t sure he wants to know. The branches of Yggdrasil are a tangled trap luring in the unwary and inexperienced and while Loki might navigate their paths with ease Thor doubts that he possesses the same talent.

“Yes?” Loki prompts after a few seconds of silence.

Thor’s chest aches to see his brother. The dim light of candles softens his sharp features into the gentle curves of a childish face, the one that he remembers Loki wearing before the whispers of the court grew poisonous, before Thor fell in love with his own legends, before Loki became enamored with the darkest paths to the worst ends. To wish for the past is useless: returning there is a gift that the Norns will not grant, but Thor can’t help it at times like these, when their history glows soft in the haze of nostalgia and the future is so precariously uncertain.

Pleas wither on the tip of Thor’s tongue as he pulls Loki closer, settling his brother’s back against his chest. “Nothing,” he murmurs into the top of Loki’s head.  
“Idiot,” Loki chastises, but his soft voice turns the insult into an endearment. Long fingers reach up and backwards to trace along Thor’s jaw to his cheek and Thor leans into the touch, chasing every bit of Loki he can get.

Maybe one day it will be different. Maybe one day he’ll be able to look at Loki and whisper stay. Maybe one day Loki won’t need to be asked. Maybe after that they can untangle the convoluted threads that make up their destinies, weave them into something different, something better.

Until that day Thor has this, the weight and warmth of Loki in his arms, the bittersweet knowledge of their sanctuary, and the tentative promise of more.

Thor has survived for centuries on far less.


End file.
